A Sense of Life
by Vocally Illiterate
Summary: What if: Yunalesca was defeated and the Final Summoning was gone... But when Yuna and co. went to defeat Sin, something went horribly wrong? This is the story of the aftermath. Warning for future violence, gore, psychology, language, implied sexuality
1. Prologue: Deliver Me

Prologue – Deliver Me

_She arrived screaming. _

_The moment was drowned with the crack of thunder, and so none could have heard, even had there been witnesses. If there had been a witness, they would have beheld a grim tableau, etched black and white from the lightning. There was she, held in the air: head tossed back, teeth bared savagely, eyes clenched with agony, slim throat white and straining, the curve of her spine pitched backwards, arms held out as if in supplication, the muscles of her limbs visible, her toes pointed yet inelegant. Part of the sickly silver light in the clearing was cast off her own skin in crackling energies – abruptly they vanished and she fell. As she collapsed into a foot or so of cold, clear water, she gasped; so her first breath, back amongst the living, was quickly followed by choking. _

_She was near a place she'd been only once before: Baaj Temple. The quickly fading aura of light surrounding her billowed downwards like mist, roiling around her even as she rose to a crouch in the water. Those rainbow pyreflies quickly spun away, some fading as they went. What remained was her naked body, spasmodic with coughs, pale flesh quickly rising to gooseflesh in the icy temperatures. _

_She made her way forward in a series of lurching, shivering motions, stones slick beneath her hands; somehow she got to the steps ahead, wiping her mouth slowly on the back of one hand. The downpour around her washed the tears from her face while they fell. Her shivering came not just from cold, but from the triumph felt by one who has just done what is presumed impossible- the pilgrim at their destination. She wept for the world she had sworn to protect but failed to, and wept for her friends, and for herself. She wept that she now had the chance, after so much struggle and pain, to regain some of what had been lost. Perhaps there was still time to right the wrongs she'd brought about – to correct her mistakes. _

_Unsteadily, cautiously, she tested her already strengthening legs and tried to stand. Once, she stumbled, but managed to make it upright... Almost instantly, there came a sense of terrible urgency, an irresistible wave which whirled her around towards the mainland in a shambling near-run. It brought her to her knees once more, for she knew her magicks were no longer strong enough to fight with, and that if she 'died' here... she would once more be slung into oblivion, and forced to make the journey back. She resisted, oh how she resisted, and eventually the squalling of the demon within her quieted down enough that she could breathe again. To be Sent to the Farplane now would be to sacrifice something more of her soul on the way back; there was always a blood toll taken, though not always of blood. How much of her will was stolen by obsession? Looking into the quavering pools of water on the stone below her, she noticed only now that the changes she'd long felt occurring had become so much more than internal or emotional: her eyes, once so bright and clear, were dulled down nearly to grey. Her fingertips reached up to lightly touch her cheekbones, then, and when contact was made – flesh to flesh – a rainbow sheen of light passed across, echoing the ripples made by the rain beneath her. _

_She was weak, but solid enough. And it would have to be enough, because now... she forced herself to her feet again, and directed attention at the gaping maw of the decayed Temple before her. The Aeons would be needed again. Since they had helped her once, they would help now. Their aid would bring her victory this time. _

_She could not smile at the thought then, and has yet to now that she's returned. _

_For the dead smile but rarely, and Yuna had long run out of laughter by the time she became Unsent. _

_

* * *

_

I'm baaaaaack

Along with the new and hopefully improved 'A Sense of Life' story.

Thank you to all my followers who stuck through this and reviewed the original story; I hope you can forgive the deletion of the chapters and a complete change of pace. My writing style will be very different, I promise you, so please forgive that as well - I feel like I've started finding my 'voice' as an author and so that'll have an impact on the overall effect I try to make. Please feel free to tell me what sucks and needs improvement, so I can do better : )

Spira is portrayed as a much darker place than in the original version of this story. For instance, I've introduced a cannibalistic cult which will make frequent (and disturbing) blood offerings. Seymour is a ruthless tyrant, but also a very cunning one. He's still completely insane.

The other characters roles have changed: Lulu is no longer a schoolteacher, Rikku is still a rebel but a more... rebellious one, and Tidus... well, you'll see next chapter where he's at.

Aiming for 3 chapters per month, more if I can handle it; it depends on University workload.

To all the old readers, welcome (back) to their brave new world.

To all the new readers, thank you so much for joining me. I hope you won't be disappointed._  
_


	2. 1: An OtherWorld Awaits

Chapter One – An Other World Awaits You

If there was ever a reluctant Seer, Tidus was surely he. So sometimes he drank around this time of day, to blank out his mind enough that he could sleep. Regardless of whether he passed out or passed sober into rest, the dreams would come: he found it easier to pass out on occasion. There were plenty of memories to want gone whilst he was awake, and if he couldn't control the ones entering as he slept, so be it. Most of them weren't his, anyways. He sometimes wonders if all Seers in Spira see the past instead of the future. He sincerely doubts it.

It is early, so he is not yet drunk. He loathes himself, despises every bit of his flesh and bone, for what he's becoming; an alcoholic bum just like his old man. He tries not to succumb, but sometimes it's just so hard. Sometimes, it feels as though this is all that stands between him and insanity - he'd really rather choose the aforementioned boozing over madness. He'd met crazies before in the Old Zanarkand as a kid, and they had terrified him. There were those who were born into psychosis and those who learned its twisted embrace at some point in their lives, although the two origins were identical in their result. Some who stayed around the insane were drunkards, leaning more into that slant of life, continuously losing sense of reality from heavy bouts with a bottle. If Tidus became addicted, he wouldn't last a second out here. Still, his liquor stores were running low which he found more alarming than he cared to admit, and that feeling left him so ashamed that he didn't care to mention the fact to Rikku. She'd delivered the latest crate a mere two months or so prior, and the contents would have lasted a typical citizen about three times as long.

The sun is going down on the horizon of Spira's upper coast, so the Zanarkand Dome off in the distance gleams with golden light, and the ocean beyond that glitters. The rest of the Ruins surrounding appear to have a dusty roan or caramel colour, deeply shadowed with blue-black: skeletons of buildings, all of them, including the one where Tidus now sits. A ground-level home, so he can't fall off a building some night if he sleep-walks. Watching the sun as it sets is his evening ritual, a form of vigil for his lost companions. He was once familiar with this part of town, and it's an ideal location for observing some of the delightful, contemporary tourist attractions of the area. Oh yes, from here he could see the Dome, and the Gagazet Pass, and sections in places of the Summoner's Pathway. It's where Rikku and him had fallen to from Sin, and he was too apathetic to move out now from where he was (kind of) comfortable. Besides, if he did that, Rikku wouldn't be able to find him so easily with supplies.

Then again, maybe he'd deserve that. His nearby hovel – unfurnished but with chunks of broken stone or metal, constantly dusty, disguised with coarse tarps and shielded by magical machina - was perhaps a bit too comfortable for the scum of the earth. And he'd not so much be hurt by the move as inconvenienced. Even as he thought this, though, a thought at the back of his mind niggled its way to the front, presenting itself in a whisper. This place was well protected from Fiends, it argued, and that was important, wasn't it?

Tidus massages the twisted scar on his chest. It stretches from right shoulder to opposite thigh. Yes, protection from Fiends was very important, particularly when Tidus was in no state of mind to take care of himself. So he shelves the notion of changing address, and lifts his bottle for another swig. Only the finest for this monster, yessiree, burning fiery down to his belly and fermenting his liver by degrees. The sun is starting to fry his eyeballs, from the feel of it, and they'll be more bloodshot than ever in the morning. His whole insides and outsides are scorching. Delicious fried Tidus.

He hawks a bitter laugh, then falls silent. It's getting so that nothing but the morbid jokes are funny now, and that's slightly worrying. Cynicism and world-weariness? Sure, he can handle those, and accept them as understandable psychological effects given what he's been through. But morbid thoughts just make him think of death, and death makes him think of her, and thinking of her makes him want to leave this place behind to find her wherever she's waiting for him. Maybe Seymour wasn't so crazy after all. Maybe the only way to escape this psychotic shit-hole of a world was to disappear entirely. Maybe that's how you became free.

So why... did that something-voice inside of him keep saying, 'not yet, not yet'?

"Because I'm... a coward." Muttered Tidus. And it was true, wasn't it? He was just a coward. He was too scared of leaving Rikku behind, he supposed. Too scared of being alone, and finding out what really happened once you... died. He didn't want to be alone. He also thought a part of it was that she'd – come back.

... He couldn't remember her voice anymore.

He takes a deep breath and regards the liquid still in the bottle: about half. With another steady breath in and out he raises the neck to his lips and chugs, nearly finishing the damn thing. Maybe this would be one of his lucky nights, where he'd see visions of them again. All of them, the freaky fuzzball to the ice queen, and especially Yu- ...her. He'd get to hear them laugh again, talk again, maybe cry again. He wouldn't give a flying Shoopuf fart what they were doing or where they were, as long as he could hear them, see them, nearly touch them. Certainly his thought processes, muddled up and fast losing capacity, were as contradictory and self-destructive as ever. Just like everything in this fucked up world. Drink to forget, but hope you'll remember. Vow never to become what your father was, but make your way there incrementally. March your sorry carcass across the entire planet, on a suicide mission for a few more years of quiet that most people'll stop appreciating right around the time the carnage starts again. Fight for life, and all it stands for, while knowing that your death won't mean anything lasting in the end. She had died for nothing.

He was rambling again, wasn't he? Mulling the same rotted thoughts around in his brain, the ones that were poisoning him more than the drink could. But he can feel that booze working its magic on him, bless it, which is good. The sunset dribbled blood across the sky. A mist is rising around him, clammy upon his skin. He's starting to shake from the temperature drop, which the moisture only makes worse. Not so good. A chill now wouldn't do. He's running low on healing tonics and potions. They worked wonders on the hangovers, and he couldn't spare what few he had remaining on stupid things like a cold. Time to head inside? Yeah, for sure. The floor takes a while to approximate itself into an angle he can actually walk across, but when it starts swaying in a general forward motion he thinks he's making pretty good progress. A wall surges up to meet him, and a giggle burbles up into a hiccupping noise, followed by a tiny belch. His groping hands find the handle of Brotherhood, which he drags behind him while continuing on his way. Its still-keen tip carves an erratic line, this way and that, across the floor behind Tidus, though he holds the sword loosely. This shit had hit hard, and fast. Haste Liquor. Maybe not so good that he'd nearly finished the bottle out here tonight – with the last hints of daylight giving way to darkness and the stars, he needed to be reasonably nimble and fast. He was only two buildings away from the one he called home, but even that distance could be enough for Fiends to have infested already.

He was in luck tonight, though, and encountered nothing. He chalked it up to the Fiends' obviously delicate constitutions; on account of the weather being poor, they must have chosen to stay home. He was hilarious tonight, a real laugh riot. His friends, if he still had any, would likely have groaned and laughed simultaneously, or made comments on his lack of ability to tell jokes with smiles on their faces. It took him a while more than it should have to lift the rug hung over the main doorway; it was thick, woven heavily, and he still held both the bottle and sword. It simply never occurred to him to let go of either to make his job easier. The interior gloom was difficult to adjust to – Tidus had no candles or lamps set up and burning - but even out of his mind Tidus could see an impressive amount. He located the chunk missing from his bedroom wall that served as a door, and made his way towards it, painstakingly slow so he wouldn't fall over.

A hollow-sounding chime rang through the air somewhere to his right.

Immediately on his guard, Tidus whirled around and blinked furiously. There was nothing in the room with him, nothing that could have made the noise.

And yet it came again.

Tidus once again spun on his heel, nearly toppling in the process – the arm holding the empty liquor bottle was flung out for balance, and at the farthest point out from him it released the glinting noise once more, a soft sharp sound. Legs splayed out in a wide stance, sword presented defensively to the side, Tidus stared in amazement at the glass. It was _thrumming. _With each slight vibration, the sound came... and it seemed to be getting faster.

Tidus looked at his sword and saw that the substance forming the blade – he never knew what it was – appeared to be boiling on the inside of its confines. A terrified glance down showed the dust around his feet jittering up and down. Outside, the wind began to pick up.

The bottle in his hand shattered with the loudest ring of all. Tidus yelped, pain lancing up from suddenly bloodied fingers. He felt the hairs on the nape of his neck beginning to stand up, and was reminded of the Thunder Plains. The air was beginning to pulse, with a steady beat – a heartbeat, almost- and there was a thin whining beginning to stretch from the air, a wire of sound. Tidus heard from outside a cooing, ethereal noise, and rushed through the main entryway. Blood dripping from his wounded hand, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was happening outside: the thick mists were glowing at a point in front of him, where the buildings parted and made way for a sort of clearing or courtyard. Bands of light pulsed in time with the air, hoops that enlarged and thinned before vanishing in their outward motion like ripples.

Not even a second later, the Ruins lit up, brighter than day. Tidus looked up to see _Pyreflies_. Thousands upon thousands, streaking down towards him- immediately he dropped into a protective crouch, hands and arms clamped above his head expecting... nothing? He chanced a peek, and saw the ribbons of iridescence passing by him, over him, _through _him, and converging on the core of the pulsing, which appeared to be growing in size and strength. The whining sound was fast increasing in pitch, stabbing into Tidus's alcohol-dulled mind – he winced, choking a small cry.

Only a few seconds had passed since the bottle had imploded, yet it felt like minutes. Tidus was running back inside the building before he understood why, heart pounding in his head and chest, because the light had been shrinking in on itself...

There was a dulled thudding noise, and Tidus was thrown off his feet. Unsecured objects joined his flight.

He was utterly blinded, seeing only whiteness and spotted afterimages. The air whirling around him felt cool.

He slammed into a wall, shrieking as a third pain was added to the ones in his head and hand, this time tearing across his chest mercilessly. His eyes blurred with tears, and there was fire lancing through his torso. He laid brokenly, limbs askew, vision blackening around the edges. Through the doorway, he could see a huge misshapen shadow standing where the shockwave's epicentre had been, the fog around it cleared in a spherical shape that was quickly being refilled with vapour.

He only had fragments of thoughts left to him. A Fiend. It had to be. He was going to die.

A smaller shadow split away... no... jumped from the arms of the larger, which spoke. Humans? He struggled to stay awake, but his ears were fading in and out with his vision, so he only heard sections of what they said.

"...long distance that...? Remind... never... do that..."

"...Useless statement. If necessary..."

"Still can't... joke, can...?"

"This is the right place. We're... time."

"... Sorry. Hey... exactly whe... –ikk... said!"

"Is that it? Over there?"

A chill ran through him. One of the figures had their arm extended, directly towards where he had fallen. He was squinting now, the feeling all through him ebbing out into numbness. He was falling unconscious, completely aware that he would be at their mercy when he did pass out, but even that knowledge was a lesser concern at the moment. The curter of the two voices was achingly familiar, and desperation demanded he see who it was..! That timbre! It couldn't be...

They drew nearer, hidden momentarily behind the carpet until it was brushed aside. Throat feeling raw, he gasped, and the smaller of the two people rushed to his side in an instant. He wasn't looking at her though, even as she gingerly examined his limbs for damages; his gaze, wide-eyed, was fixed on the man standing in front of him, whom he never believed he'd see again.

"_It's you._" He croaked in a whisper,

And then darkness mercifully took him, and he knew no more.

* * *

_The first real chapter is up! YAY! _

_This is what Tidus is up to. : ) You'll get to see more of him next chapter. _

_Hope you like it! Comments and critiques are loved.  
_


	3. 2: Mother of Exiles

CHAPTER TWO - Mother of Exiles

_There is a steady line of people moving towards the Al Bhed airship. They nearly look like ants straggling along, with some moving quicker than others, being unburdened by infants or injury. A few have heavy-laden bags strapped to their backs. The wind and rain sheeting around them blows some of Rikku's hair into her eyes and it sticks there with the moisture. She adjusts her body, trying to press it closer to the cliff while keeping her legs splayed out for stability. _

_ She's spared these refugees only a cursory glance before turning her furiously blinking eyes in a broad sweep from East, the cliffs above and around her, across the entire charred plain and ruined land to the West, where the sea was a great grey-blue expanse. There are no distinct landmarks to designate exactly where on the mainland they are. She huffs her breath up to blow streaming water away from her nose in great droplets, flying upwards in miniature parody of the rain. She seems not to see anything on the horizon, although she doesn't relax. Her vigilance is obvious, and the rest of the Al Bhed in the area appear similarly tense. They keep their hands on their weapons, shifting only to maintain an invisible boundary – from this vantage point, it's obvious that they are herding the refugees in a sense, ensuring that the line stays more or less consistent from the cliffs outward. There are caves in those walls of stone, and it's from them that the people evacuate. _

_ With a look downwards, it's possible to see a fair-sized grouping of non-Al Bheds, hanging tersely around one another. They make a small dark clot on the fields, and a few exiting the caves join them. Their numbers swell by fractions, rather than significant additions, but they do still grow. They are ignored by the guardian Al Bhed surrounding them, and though a few seem reluctant – stopping in one area and sometimes having confrontations with others moving on in the line – they do not hesitate after a certain point, and none leave once they've joined the gathering. An older woman drops to her knees a few yards away from the group, hands raised upwards in supplication, and her thin wail can barely be heard wafting up from below. _

_ Rikku looks over, making eye contact; only now is it apparent how exhausted she is, how dark the circles under her eyes are, how pale she appears. Her lips part, and_

* * *

_ There comes a shriek. In alarm he whirls, in time to be passed through by a child running full-tilt forward, clutching a ball. A barking dog soon bounds past as well, and the boy keeps laughing while it leaps around him. The youth is one member of a large caravan, trundling along the pathway; the caravan proceeds through a valley carved out from the rock around them, the sky visible only at the top. The multitudes, apparently a tribe of a few hundred or so, wear brightly woven fabrics made into skilfully crafted garments, loose but not yet flowing. The sun is bright overhead, and gently warming. Around, the pilgrims and travellers smile – though they are weary, and have travelled long with all of their possessions, here is their destination in front of them at last. Further along the line, a priest stands distinguishable by his simple robes adorned with a few simple glyphs. He too smiles, and greets the people. His words become more distinct as Tidus draws closer. _

_ "... It's been a long journey, but you've made it at last. Welcome, welcome to your new home ! On behalf of the Church, I welcome you..." _

_ He is still audible as he is passed by. Is this the Calm Lands? Surely not, the geography is all different, all wrong. There's no rolling hills, no mountains in the distance; just a bright turquoise strip of ocean sparkling in the distance once the land cuts off, green fields stretching out flatly, and rocky cliffs framing the whole lot into a secluded but lovely plateau. A few families are dropping their packs to the ground and stretching out luxuriously, while younger children race around shrieking with joy. One man crouches to scrape up some of the turf in his fingers, the richly toned grass ripping up to shed clods of dirt onto the ground below. The small hole left behind shows earth very dark in colour and slightly moist, crumbling smoothly in the man's hand while he rolls it around his palm with the opposite hand. A small smile creeps onto his face and crinkles his eyes at their outer corners. A look at the man's cart reveals a number of tools and implements for the purpose of tilling land, raking dirt, and other manual tasks associated with farming. Plump bags of seed and grain lie here and there, and can be glimpsed in many of the surrounding family's carts or packs as well. This will be an agrarian settlement, apparently... but when are they? _

_The man who tested the earth raises his wiry arms to the bright clear sky, basking and glowing under the daylight, and joyfully he_

_

* * *

Dances, around and around a central fire in the midst of a grassy clearing, transform women and men alike into twirling reflections of tongues of flame, owing to the sheer scarves and bright patterns adorning their sleeves and heads. A bright circle of light is cast for meters around the area, illuminating rich tall crops nearby. The people clap their hands along with the beat of drums, accompanied by light-hearted shell flutes and singing. _

_In all the revelry, nobody but Tidus sees the young man catch a girl about his age around her wrist. She starts at the sudden contact, though he quiets her; they share a secretive look, tiny smiles. In moments they are moving in increments towards the outer rim of the circle, to where the fire's glow becomes less pronounced. He follows them, curious; after they are innocuously situated at the darkest edge, they begin running with fingers entwined, stifling laughter. Their destination appears to be a sheer rock face, rising up fairly far from here... and Tidus realizes that this is the same place that had become home to pilgrim farmers, where Rikku would later dangle precariously to direct refugees. _

_They follow a pathway, footfalls padded by soft dust. Lining each side of them are more crops, gardens, and gradually a shift to fruit trees. The celebration behind them is largely hidden; a suggestion of the fire glows orange against low-lying clouds, and the blue-black stillness of night covers the pair. The one teen pants for his breath as he runs, while the girl giggles helplessly. The cliffs tower above, growing nearer and closer, a series of dark holes strung at ground level like beads. The pathway continues directly into one of these rough doorways, where just entering they pause to hold themselves up with one hand each on opposite walls. They lock eyes and become equally locked in a laughing fit that escalates helplessly without any words being spoken. _

_The young woman, however, is the one who flings herself forward first with reckless abandon to kiss her companion, long and passionate – and he, looking shocked, takes a moment to respond but does so quite willingly, pressing her backwards until they lightly collide with stone and come to rest, kissing over and over again. Suddenly they are off and running again, down the carved-out corridor. Tidus follows them, sensing the need to be somewhere in here to trigger the next vision, but continuing to note feelings of awkwardness and intrusion – it is these which lead him to lag a bit to grant a privacy which is unnecessary. They cannot see him, and he knows this, but still... He focuses on the sounds of their feet rather than their forms, choosing to take in his surroundings instead: the soft bluish lighting encased in spheres on the walls, the branching offshoots of tunnels, the furnished rooms visible in many places, bright tapestries hung at intervals, a spacious room full of empty twig baskets. _

_They sharply turn right, so he overshoots and almost loses them, requiring the passing of several seconds to locate the branch once more. The flap of a tapestry hung to act as a door alerts him to where they've entered, and he passes through easily to see them holding each other, nearly_

_

* * *

Naked. The man is fully exposed, on a stone table in the middle of a candle-lit room. A sallow teen stands just above his head – the youth has pointed features, a thin nose and thin lips and dark eyes. There are shadows made by his brows and in the contours of his cheeks, giving a stark brightening to the rest of him. Around him are more figures, some wearing travelling cloaks, all in what appears to be traditional garb for priestly individuals or merchants. There are humes, Guado, and a bony Hypello. They cannot hide the greedy anticipation on their faces. _

_ The teen seems to have just concluded saying something; he raises a hand up into the air and opens it, then stands as such. He may as well be carved from stone. A girl behind him with stringy brown hair and a burning gaze meets his palm with the handle of a thin but gleaming blade; he opens his mouth to show small, even teeth, and whispers:_

"_For thee, we make this offering, that thy ultimate victory may come." _

_There is a murmuring reply that passes around the onlookers. "Thy victory..." is the sibilant phrase. One hume has his hands twisted and knotted in front of himself, and he bites down eagerly on his own whitened knuckles. There is a terrible hunger. The man on the slab stares at the ceiling with blank eyes. His chest has been rising and falling shallowly, but now even that seems to pause with the pregnancy in the atmosphere. _

_Those dark eyes smoulder at Tidus, the boy looming from out of nowhere above him, and now Tidus is the one on the slab looking up helpless to move, his limbs are weighted down and cumbersome; it feels like he's weighted down by all the gravity in the world, natural and no, and it _HURTS_. Those merciless thin lips strain outwards in a terrible parody of a smile, and the boy says: _

"_Hello, Dreamreader." _

_The boy bares his teeth and the blade is slammed down, down, again and again and again and again and again and again and_

_

* * *

_

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO-!"

Tidus wakes gasping for air, twisting himself up in blankets as he bolts upright, immediately crying out in a mixture of fear and pain; he may have just torn muscles in his chest, from the feel of it. His fingers claw and scrabble at the wounds spurting blood that he's sure exist, while hoarse panting cries issue forth from his mouth; a woman bursts into his room, evidently filled with concern and panic. She sees him thrashing, flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth, and immediately snatches up an urn and bottle lying near the door.

She makes it to his side just as he twists to lean over the floor and retch. The urn is there to catch the stringy watered-down bile, and once he stops heaving she sets it down carefully on the floor where it's out of the way. The bottle gives off a gentle herbal scent; one that grows stronger as she tilts it carefully up to Tidus's panting mouth. His eyes now squeezed shut, leaking stinging tears, he takes it unquestioningly, issuing a sigh of relief when the balm soothes the acid of his mouth and dry throat.

Suddenly he pushes a hand out against the bottle, sending it flying away from his lips and onto the floor where it shatters. The woman starts to cry out, but Tidus has already located and seized Brotherhood from its spot near the head of his bed, simultaneously placing a hand on her chest and leaping towards her, shoving her into the opposite wall of the tiny room. She slams into it, her cry choking off as the wind is knocked out of her, and then Tidus is in front of her. He spits furiously, the blade edge of his sword already at her throat, ignoring the ache of his protesting joints and muscles.

"Who are you, and how do I know you haven't... poisoned... Shelinda?"

She nods her head as best she can, a series of tiny jerks to avoid accidental beheading; realizing this, Tidus withdraws his weapon to stare in amazement.

"I... sorry... It's... why are you here?"

She laughs nervously, almost a hysterical giggle. "I... well, I'm..."

He hugs her tightly, cutting off her reply completely. "I thought they would have gotten you in the purges!"

She's changed, a lot. Her hair is cropped short; her ornate acolyte's robes have been replaced by far simpler colours, muted coppers and greens. She does have an intricate waist sash with interlocking bands of bright orange, teal, pale blue; however, it's been through some wear-and-tear, with a few loose threads here and there, burn marks, some of the fringe cut away from the tail ends dangling by her side. Yet her eyes are as gentle and slightly confused as ever, her attire is no less conservative, and her air of servile good-intentions still influences how she stands and moves in relation to Tidus. Under his scrutiny she blushes, which finally tips him off to move further away. He steps back apologetically, and she visibly relaxes.

"They missed me. And Gatta too. He's here."

Before she can say any more, they hear footfalls outside the room. A pair of worn leather boots can be glimpsed underneath the tapestry, and then a deep and sarcastic tone of voice.

"Am I to assume that all the screaming and shattering glass indicates you're awake?"

The hanging tapestry is shoved aside – "You really ought to move this. It's cumbersome." – And Tidus lays eyes on the man he saw last night, the man he believed he'd never see again. The man who was defeated, died, and vanished inside Sin without a trace. He now stands as immovable as ever, still in the same garb, good eye appraising Tidus's worn form.

Auron steps forward, and enters the room.

* * *

_Thanks to you all for reading : ) _

_I'm going to do my best to upload a new chapter every 1 - 2 weeks, depending on my workload in University /fffffffuuuuu/ _

_I've got a much clearer idea of where this is headed, so please look forward to it : D  
_


	4. 3: Life Won't Let Go

CHAPTER 3 - LIFE WON'T LET GO

It's doubtful the boy even realizes the state he's in, thinks Auron with a measure of weariness. He is not surprised. Even in spite of sleeping for nearly three days straight, there are dark circles engrained beneath Tidus's worn eyes, bruise-like shadows of the insomniacs or severely overworked. The scar across his chest, though reasonably healed by Shelinda's ministrations and bandaged, had been gnarled and streaked livid pink in surrounding flesh, unhealthy and fevered; its reopening some nights past had erupted tiny stinging fissures and cracks around the thickened tissues, and the rubbery scar tissues radiating in many small tongues suggested that it had not been the first time the skin tore open. It's a wonder Tidus hasn't suffered poisoning or infection; the depleted potion stock in the adjacent couldn't have staved it off much longer, in any case.

Nor were these the most concerning signs of deterioration that Auron saw, though they were the most immediate. In the mere months since Sin went rogue, Tidus appeared to have lost upwards of ten pounds. The muscles visible on his arms and chest were shrunken down and his baby fat was gone. Far from appearing lean, however, Tidus looked partially starved. He wasn't eating nearly enough to replenish the energy his daily exertions – whatever they were- required of his body. He was taxing it near beyond endurance; at least that fact was plain. A faint tremor can be seen in his hands right now, still loosely holding Brotherhood; he has retreated to sit on the edge of his bed, legs also shaking minutely. The circles under his eyes are not just due to exertion or lack of sleep, but also malnutrition. Auron continues scrutinizing him from his post by the tapestry-draped doorway, watching while Tidus gratefully takes a cup of water proffered by Shelinda. Concern is equally mixed with mild annoyance: with the teen in such a state, Auron's plans may now be delayed by weeks. The development is dismaying, to say the least. Tidus could be left behind, in order to fully recuperate and meet up with them later... however, Auron can no more predict where he and his Smoke Warriors will be in the following weeks than he can forsee his own final journey to the Farplane. As such, it would be incredibly difficult to establish a reliable, safe means of communication; spheres could be intercepted, and the experiments Auron was running with Shelinda... well, only met with marginal success at the present time.

Yet there is no one else Auron trusts to act as Guardian to Shelinda while she completes her training, for in these troubled times it was necessary to ensure that you trusted your allies absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt or a chance for betrayal. It was not only Seymour's guards and spies that you had to be wary of. There was more than one faction vying for power in Spira, far more than regular citizens would suspect could exist under the totalitarian conditions imposed by Seymour. Rumours circulated, telling of a Sin-worshipping cult composed of anarchists and unstable psychotics who had previously occupied the fringe edges of society. It was further rumoured that they were cannibalistic, though Auron himself placed little stock in these vague, fearful shreds of gossip. There were further, smaller, less-organized bands; several bands of raiders, thieves, and pillagers desecrating the temples and towns, looting whatever valuables and luxuries they found, intending to sell them on the black market. There were extremists who had sworn to stop, by any means, Summoners attempting to complete pilgrimages for the fear of Aeons reawakening Sin, and still more vowing to track down the still-living members of Yuna's past – her friends as well as her remaining Guardians – in order to murder them. Fools and lunatics, all. But still, reasons for caution and discretion. Reasons to believe that Shelinda would need all the protection she could get and that Tidus would be safer under Auron's watchful eye.

Yet for all his trepidation, Auron can't help but think. With Shelinda around, the healing may take less time than suspected, and Gatta's hunting skills would almost certainly ensure a steady supply of meats. The nourishment would bulk up Tidus to his old fighting condition much better than whatever he'd been eating here in these Fiend-infested ruins. Besides, Auron mused, there was a chance that he underestimated Tidus: he had displayed more than adequate energy and strength this morning in his attack, and had survived here well enough on his own these past months. There was the question of who was supplying Tidus with his provisions, but it was little matter for now. An answer would come. In the mean time, the boy must be persuaded to give up his post here, in favour of a journey which would most likely kill them all.

Inwardly, Auron sighed. Like it or not, Tidus would have to come with them. If he remained, it was likely that some unfriendly, unaccounted-for third party might encounter the boy... and then all might be lost.

* * *

"And why exactly should I care? The last time you convinced me that doing something was for my own good, I got dropped in the middle of... all of this. You played me like a puppet, Auron, and I'm not exactly in a hurry to repeat the experience."

His head is pounding again and his fingers knead restlessly above his eyes. The dusty heat of the Ruins is doing nothing but contribute to his bad mood; nor is Gatta, who is shouting obscenities with great relish at the harmless sand-birds running around outside. The prospect of dinner is low on Tidus's list of priorities right now, so a healthy part of him would like to do nothing better than to thump the former Crusader around a bit and get him to shut up.

It would also ease his conscience – and allow him to maintain a devil-may-care attitude towards life in general – if Shelinda could stop twisting her fingers around, eyes downcast and biting her lips, giving off a general demure and apologetic aura. It's making him feel like Shoopuf dung, arguing as to why he should _not _be brought along with his former ally and acquaintances even when it was clear they weren't asking out of idleness. One look at the trio's dress was enough to communicate some of what they'd been through, and nothing could erase the haggard, hunted looks hovering about Shelinda and Gatta like shadows. Tidus can tell that he's surely doing nothing to set their minds at ease: his obvious avoidance of commitment to their journey strikes him more and more as being both petty and childish, not to mention cruel. He must be just one more disappointment to be added to a long list. Bad news didn't come as a surprise to these people, that was pretty much certain, and Shelinda in particular accepted it with polite resignation.

Tidus was so prepared to be defensive that he's completely taken aback by Auron's reaction: a conceding incline of the head, two palms raised upright towards him in deference. His tone is placating, words carefully and deliberately chosen. "I understand why you don't trust me, and I have to admit: I deserve your scorn. I did not treat you as someone with real skills or value, but as a necessary annoyance. I viewed you, as you say, as a puppet: someone to be carefully guided lest you make a critical error in judgement or action, and thus jeopardize the Pilgrimage. Yet had I brought you into confidence with me, shared what information I had rather than withheld it, I believe we might have stood a better chance against Sin. Perhaps you would have proven yourself to everyone that much faster. Your maturity grew much quicker than I would have expected, and you showed yourself to be perhaps the best companion for Yuna when I predicted you to be the worst. For that mistake I owe you an apology.

"What I ask of you now is different, Tidus. True, there are things that I will not share with you, and I will understand if you refuse to join us based on that alone – after promising openness, to say that likely sounds hypocritical. However, things have fundamentally changed. We are running out of time faster than anyone believes possible. I don't know how much you know about the current situation in Spira, and I won't insult you by presuming you know nothing. However, I can say this: things are crumbling exponentially faster and further each day that goes by. Spira is dying, or perhaps going insane; regardless, it's running out of control." He faltered for a moment, then went on. "In a few months, or a year, there may be no one left to save. That's why we're travelling right now, to Besaid, in the hopes that the Pilgrimage route and the Aeons have not yet completely been destroyed. Shelinda and I have... experimented with the limits of what we know about magic and Pyreflies. I can tell you right now- what we've accomplished is extraordinary. But we need the Aeons again."

"W-we've known that from the start." Tidus interjected, a bit frantically. "And what do you mean, experimenting? What limits?"

"That's something that will take an enormous amount of time to explain, and time is of the essence. Travel must begin immediately. I can tell you this though: Sin is not unbeatable, even if our prior attempt failed. The same technique will not work, Sin's very composition has altered in crucial ways, but we may – _may –_ be able to subvert Yu Yevon another way. Shelinda agrees; in her faith, she has agreed to undergo the Pilgrimage, obtain as many Aeons as remain, and attempt to discover along the way how Sin may be destroyed."

For the first time, Shelinda spoke up. "I'm not... used to such responsibilities. I took it upon myself to serve Yevo- the Church, but I felt too... I guess small would be the word... to undertake any but the most humble tasks."

"For the first time, the only guidance and authority I have is myself. I don't know what to think anymore about everything I once believed, and so... I hope to use this as a chance to teach myself, and in learning, to understand how Sin may actually be defeated. Yet I don't think I'm strong enough to stand on my own. I need protection. I think I need- you."

That horrible expectant air was back, and more prominent than before. Tidus realized with a surge of panic that she was watching him closely, leaning forward with unbearable hope and pleading in her eyes. Her hands twisted and knotted in her hands, moving restlessly around one another. The motion was incredibly distracting. Tidus wanted nothing more than to push past the pair of them, out the door to where he could breathe again and where the only constrictions were the crumbled buildings, the only weight over his head that of the sky's wide blue expanse. All at once welling up in him was a horrible indignant anger; boiling hot for these 'guests' who had literally appeared in his life, unannounced, unplanned; whom had injured him, invaded his home, scarcely given him a chance to gain his bearings or explain their purpose before thrusting accountability upon him, and finally overlaying a sense of irrefutable urgency and importance. What was worse, is it was not just for his own well being, which wouldn't improve by being left here to his own devices, but for the continued survival of a world Tidus cared very little about. Spira was, in many ways, nothing of his own, yet he was called to own it. It was all too much. He wished, in a fevered, embittered way, that they'd simply been unable to find him, however they had; that they'd never shown up in the first place. He considered it a bother, an affront, above all an inconvenience, if for no reason other than it made his sensation of guilt very real and tangible. Very connected to actual, present people.

"I'm not sure I can-"

Gatta burst through the doorway in a flurry of auburn feathers, a chaotic flock of sand-birds squawking and gobbling and shrieking around him, a choked cry issuing forth while his raised arms swung widely and wildly, struggling and failing miserably in their quest to capture one of the fowls in their grasp. Shelinda, in her shock, toppled off her chair to the ground; Auron took a half-step back with his leading foot, hand reaching upwards for the handle of his great sword before the young former Crusader crashed into him, arms still outstretched. They stumbled backwards several steps, Gatta hopping absurdly on one foot and still yelling. The sand-birds, a good seven of them, continued storming around the room in their blank-eyed fashion, strutting and flapping their wings. The air appeared to be full of soft, downy brown the shade of sun-baked clay dust, light feathers whirling in the eddies and currents in the air. For the span of a few seconds, nothing happened and the room appeared to be caught in a limbo. At last though, a sound made itself heard amongst the birds, rapidly rising above their babble: Tidus's scream of rage rose up, his body a blur as he launched himself towards the hub of the birds, still massed near their entrance point. New indignant screeches contributed themselves to the general din, though two were conspicuously cut off. Several birds made a beeline for the angled sunshine painting its way underneath the door hanging, Tidus sparing no effort to stop them whatsoever.

When at last the air cleared, the other three occupants beheld the blonde standing, legs akimbo, limbs forming a triumphant and primeval 'x' while Tidus panted. Two sand-birds were clutched, pop-eyed, one in each white-knuckled fist, their necks broken from the pressure; they were very much dead, disbelieving expressions frozen on their stupid faces. Gatta looked on with jaw dropped slackly, whilst Shelinda had one slim hand pressed to her throat as though it was her own neck which had been broken.

Tidus's fingers slackened, head bowing and shoulders slumping, the dead birds falling to the ground. Gatta makes a move, as though to reach out for the carcasses, but Auron's arm is there immediately to slam the boy against the wall: when Gatta begins to protest angrily, Auron's steely glare silences him.

"I'm going outside for a while." Tidus says at last, words heavy and quietly spoken. "I'm going to get some air, and think. NO!" he adds, for Shelinda had by that point scraped off the floor and come to rest a hand on his shoulder. He jerked away from the touch as though it was caustic. "I don't want company. I'm going _alone_. And I expect to be left that way."

He exudes danger, yet his steps across the threshold of his home are that of a man fighting sheer exhaustion. When the tapestry flaps back into place, the stillness in the room shivers before circling once and departing. Gatta practically withers in the resulting atmosphere, face turning to Auron in dreadful expectation. Auron's single eye gleams down, a hawk's gaze; his words, barely above a whisper, fall as stones.

"You... oh, you child."

"H-have I done something?"

"It's quite possible you ruined our last hope."

Shelinda, speechless and frozen, moves at last. "No." She says, straightening her shoulders. Her mouth becomes set, a thin line. She takes long strides towards the door, not looking back as she says, "I'll bring him back. You'll see. He _must_ come with us, right?" It's perhaps for the best that the men behind her can't see that her face is filling with a nervous flush. The tapestry flaps in place behind her, and all is once again still.

* * *

_For anyone who's stopped watching this story, I'm so terribly sorry to have promised updates regularly and then failed to uphold that. _

_In the meantime, this is the latest chapter; not my favourite but hopefully things will become more interesting. Tidus is an angry fellow, but Shelinda appears to have gotten more backbone. _

_All reviews and favourites are hugely encouraging - thank you so much! I'll try not to let you all down again. _

_Much love, _

_VocallyIlliterate  
_


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